It's the little things.

A couple of interesting experiences from the last few days…

Scene One:

I was in my local Mexican hole-in-the-wall. It’s the kind where it’s clean and colorful inside, with a television always on a Spanish speaking station – that day’s show was “El Gordo y La Flaca” (the fat and the skinny). The food is truly authentic to the point that during the time I was in the restaurant for a quick lunch, easily twenty Hispanic people either dined in or took out. I was, in fact, the only white person there. That is until The Grannies.

Just as I was finishing up my amazing fish taco and horchata, three older ladies entered. One of them charged in yelling “HOLA” (she pronounced it hoe-lah). The other two scurried up behind as she said in one of the worst gringo accents ever, "¿Cómo estás?" The cook/owner kindly responded in simple Spanish, but it seemed those three words were about the extent of her Spanish vocabulary.

I went about the business of devouring more of the taco when bits of the continuing conversation wafted my way. She was explaining to her two companions what a burrito is and what a taco is. Now here in California, well, you’re just sort of born with that knowledge. Like knowing your cheeses if you’re from Wisconsin. It’s just the way of [your] world.

Still, I ate on. But I was again sucked in when one of the followers said in a British accent, “Guacamole,” (pronounced something akin to that amusement center game “Whack-a-Mole”), “that’s made with avocados, yes?” When the answer came in the affirmative, she said, “I’ll have this.” She then points to an item on the menu which is on the wall outside of the kitchen. So the person taking the order had no idea what she was referring to and just looked utterly dumbfounded when none of the three offered a further explanation as to what “this” was.

Well, that was pretty much it for me, I mean I’m sure they said and did loads of other funny things before they took their seats, but frankly I got the giggles. The three Mexicans at the next table looked at me… sitting alone… laughing... but I was giggling too hard to explain, so I vaguely gestured toward the ladies and just kept looking the fool. It was worth it. I was sorry I was done and had to be off.

Scene Two:

I was walking in the park again today. Third day in a row, fourth this week, so I’m feeling really good about it. Sunday is obviously more crowded than the other days (even Saturdays, actually). I’ve recently learned this breathing technique to do, and it’s especially good when walking. Without getting into it, I’ll just say it involves intaking all your air through your nose. Being spring, over the last few days this has been delightful. It’s a large park with a lake, and I walk the whole of it, so there are loads of lovely, fresh smells with everything blooming.

I was about two thirds of the way through the walk when, in the traffic of people on the trails, walking toward me were a man and a lady. Now, I must confess I don’t have any idea what the guy looked like because my eyes went straight to the lady’s fake boobs. They couldn’t help it, my eyes. Now, this lady was dressed like someone from Beverly Hills would dress if they were pretending to workout – all high end clothing, none of which would actually hold up to any real excerpted activity, and no actual bra underneath her purple designer spandex-with-spaghetti-strap top (yet oversized-boobs-on-tine-body are fixed in place). Her hair is big, and she’s even holding a designer water. Yet, somehow if it weren’t for the boobs, she’d not look so obviously over-done. Of course, with the exception of the boobs, having only had a glance, none of this processed until I'd passed them.

But the passing was the thing, because when I did I happened to be doing one of those big intake breaths… you know, through the nose. I sputtered and coughed, my eyes started watering. I was choking on the cloud of perfume in which she was encased. This also made me laugh – and I thought for sure I’d be found out as to why, so without really being able to breathe I rushed forward. Once breathing again commenced, I was chuckling for a while, because seriously it was an intensely pungent fragrance. I got to my turn-around point on the dam, back in the groove of the rhythm of exercise. As a turned a corner down the way a bit, there they were again. Luckily this time I could see them coming from a ways off, so I could make sure to be breathing OUT when I passed. But I still laughed.

Scene Three:

I was helping someone out with their start-up business, and ended up driving an hour away to babysit both Friday and Saturday. They were for about four hours each. It was fun (the work, not the commute); the girl is really cute. This business provides you with a basket of fun, mostly learning-related, toys and games. Yesterday, amongst other things, we built a wooden model of the skeleton of a brachiosaurus, played the memory game, and I painted her face. She loved it all, but especially the face painting.

With about ten minutes before I was scheduled to leave, she really wanted to do something from my basket of goodies again, but I explained that I was going to have to leave soon. She started crying and said she wanted her mom. Her mom, who had returned and was working in the next room, automatically asked what was wrong. Once she realized, she started laughing and left me to it. (I’m pretty sure her daughter was hoping mom would side with her and tell me to stay.) I came up with a solution that made my charge happy, but it’s pretty hilarious when someone outright cries AND wants their mom when you tell them you’re going to be leaving soon – especially when you’re at work.

What we have.

I want to start this post out by saying that this is NOT me preaching at you, this is me sharing my astonishment and expressing my realizations at how the way I live my life effects the world.

I’m so ashamed. When I actually consider my weekly trash output, I’m so ashamed. I’m someone who has always been, shall we say, ecologically conscious. I remember in the mid-80’s, for instance, long before recycling was touted, much less readily available, and being ecologically minded was PC (long before there was such a thing as PC), I would cart around my empty Coke cans in my bookbag to bring them home to recycle (meaning then later taking them out to a recycling center as home pick-up was unheard of). The last few Christmases I only shopped with reusable bags. Good things. Valuable things. Things I should and will continue. But what about all the trash I was outputting? Recycle or not, why am I using so many things for no more than a few minutes and trashing them?

By now some of you might be wondering what I’m on, as in what I’ve been ingesting mentally. You would be right to assume there was something. In a round about way, an online girlfriend opened up my world. It was a simple link posted on Facebook. A movie review, actually, and one that was just so-so. But she recommended a website, and as she is someone I admire and whose opinion I value, I checked it out.

No Impact Man. Heard of him? He’s that weirdo in New York City who tried to live, along with an 18 month old daughter and his reluctant wife, with no environmental impact for a full year. I was interested in practical ways I could live a more ecologically friendly life – simple things like when I made the resolution at the beginning of the year to only ever use recycle bags, otherwise I must carry the items without anything or simply not get them. Extreme? Perhaps. (Or at least to some.) But, though I’ve been far more ecologically sound than most of those in my neighborhood, I’d never taken that real step of making it an absolute. So far it’s been incredibly easy to live by. But I digress.

Through this simple post by a girlfriend, I discovered many things. One of the most impacting was the short video call “The Story of Stuff.” Wow. I mean, WOW. It really makes you think about what you buy… and even why you buy it. Even more, it opens your eyes to SO MUCH about the process of making, about how we became a consumer society, and so much more. Beyond that video, I discovered other products and possibilities as to change and how I can conserve.

But most of all, and especially after hunting down a copy of the book No Impact Man, I found out just how much waste I am putting out there every day. It’s astounding. I, for instance, had only recently started using handkerchiefs now and then, more as a novelty and a convenience in cold weather. But when I realized that the thousands and thousands of tissues I still use and translate that into trees, I was floored. How about paper towels? It’s so easy to pick up a rag for the dirty jobs and a dishtowel for the drying jobs that might cause me to normally reach for a paper towel.

But then one of the resources pointed out feminine hygiene products. Um. Yeah. Not getting into too much detail here, boys, but I must say I was astounded that there WERE these options. How come I’d never heard of them before now? I’m THRILLED not to have to ever worry about running out. I’m psyched that will not have to spend all that money yearly on products – ever again. For the lifestyle of living abroad and travel which I’m working toward, knowing that wherever I am what I need will be available by the mere fact that I have all I need always with me is revolutionary. And, then also it’s great knowing that I’ll never, ever again add that kind of waste to the environment. (Never mind that I won’t be putting bleached and not toxin free – none are, nor are such things regulated – paper-based wads inside me.) Girls if you are curious to know what I’m talking about, check out DivaCups and LunaPads. Mine are on their way!

So far I’m about a third of the way through the book, and I’ve not yet gotten to the big changes he (they) made. Like TP alternatives. Like only food produced within a certain distance from them. Like… well I don’t know as I’ve not gotten to that yet! But what I do know is that all my take-out waste is absurd; that when I ate at that restaurant last night, it would have been easy enough to have a cloth napkin in my bag so as not to waste the paper; that cutting back – especially my trash output – actually isn’t hard at all.

Most of all, what I’m realizing is that my grandparents had the right idea. Okay, my grandmother was a hoarder in many ways – not like those horrendous shows you see on TV with all the filth, but in the never-throwing-things-away sort of scenario. We cousins still joke about the Styrofoam platter that had the duct tape down the middle, which was used ever time we visited. The water used to rinse our plates had to be taken out and used to water the plants outside in the Nebraska heat. That idea of “waste not, want not…” the idea of being grateful for what you do have, these are good tenants to live by.

[Those positive psychologist have] discovered that happy people spend a lot of time being grateful for what they have and savoring their experience. They don’t rush through “now” to get to later. They don’t make taking care of themselves or their families something they have to get over with so they can get to the good stuff. Instead, they insist that this moment, whatever it is, is the good stuff. – Colin Beavan, No Impact Man

So their idea then, my grandparents and their generation, was that if we treat what resources we have as precious, we understand how this life is precious, too. We have less “need” for things because we are so full up with blessings for what we have in front of us. If that’s archaic thinking, bring on the Ben Gay and Metamucil.

(No offense, gang... but could YOU resist this picture??)

What it's really about.

A good friend of mine has been trying for ages to get me to check out a website called CouchSurfing. It’s this fantastic site for… well I was going to say for travelers, but really it’s for people who want to connect with individuals from other places and cultures. Obviously I finally took a look – and signed up straightaway.

When filling out the profile, I really liked that they had a section for “Teach, Learn, Share.” Under the premise that surfing isn’t just about a place to sleep, but about an exchange, they gave a place to share any sort of special knowledge or insights you might have.

So when I got to that section, the following is what I shared…

When I was simply crossing a park in Athens on my way to someplace ancient, carting my bag as well as some leftovers which were meant for my supper, I came across three homeless men. The only three I saw in that country, I believe. They spoke to me, eventually in perfect English, with respect and politeness they tried to induce me to stop for a moment. I'm a girl, traveling alone in my first foreign country in a shrouded area at dusk. What did I do? I stopped. Sure there were things I wanted to see, places I wanted to go, but this was after all truly Greece right here in the park.

After some conversation around a burning trash barrel by a park bench, they insisted I eat with them - & were insulted when I pulled out my own food. First of all, the food they shared was phenomenal - the churches made sure they were very well fed, so it was one of the best meals I had in Greece. But then chatting with them I discovered that one of them had worked for years at one of the most famous restaurants in New York. He told me about serving all the famous people of the 60's & 70's and who really had been magnificent and who had been horrid. Another had been a merchant marine & told of some thrilling adventures & travels as well. The third told shyly of the love of his life, whom had eventually died after many years of joy together. We all talked and laughed into the wee hours.

In the end, I discovered the one who had lived in America had recently inherited a tiny two room flat, and knowing I hadn't yet found a bed for the night, insisted I stay at his place. The other two explained they were homeless by choice. They enjoyed this life, even on cold January nights like that one. Indeed, they were some of the most contented people I'd ever met. I'll never forget any of them nor those hours around the rubbish bin fire where they, each one, enriched my life.

Never discount the little moments. Take every opportunity to embrace life, but even more to experience the people around you, whatever their status. Don't miss the people for the place; don't miss the now for the past; don't miss the beauty in front of you for the dust on it's shell.

There is so much more to that story, like how horrid my host’s home smelled because he had recently painted it… and they put crazy stuff in their paint there. I believe I may have experienced something akin to an acid trip. I mean, I wouldn’t know because I’ve never dropped acid, but… it was SOMETHING. In that neat, sparse room were there REALLY bed bugs, or was it all part of the hallucination?

Still, great people, great experience, and many, many great stories… all because I stopped for people most pretend don’t exist.

Best pick-up line EVER.

(Well, by a geek to a geek at least.)

It was last year, and I was in a frustrated and miserable state as my car, which I’d just the day before dropped a bunch of money into to replace the radiator while on a trip, had not even 11 miles later fizzled into eternal death. By that time, however, I had crossed the San Francisco bay (from Marin to Oakland) and there was not a soul I knew in the vicinity.

So I waited for a tow truck (that was going to suck even more money out of me) to make its way up from home in the south bay to where my car had breathed it’s last. I was stuck in a sort of in-between place, so had to walk some distance to find a spot in which to finally eat. It was a restaurant next to a boat dock.

I go in, and head upstairs to the less… romantic area. I ascend the stairs into a raucous, merry world filled with local fishermen and posh yacht owners swilling together. There were peanut shells on the floor, and dice rolling around on the bar.

I reached the top and INSTANTLY became the center of attention. Oh, and you can believe me, I (also instantly) decided I was going to have some serious fun with this!

I was invited to sit many places, but chose the table at the head of the stairs, just next to the bar, that was filled with a motley group. Sort of a large “welcoming table” as you got to watch the ebb and flow of customers… and discuss said customers at length in front of them if you wished (apparently this was the local custom).

Now, in that mix, some of the guys were complete idiots (to be expected) attempting to pick me up by insulting me and calling me a liar. As a side note, the irony was it was the one thing I wasn’t… “misleading” about! You see, I’d also decided to just be evasive about everything, so that when they questioned me about what I did for a living, they decided it was whatever they suggested because I didn’t stop them from thinking that. So I had a myriad of occupations (and a plethora of names), depending on who you talked to!

There were other guys that offered, and did, buy my drinks and my meal. There were some that were so drunk they could only say sexual things to me as their friends laughed nervously, while I, smartalec that I am, had scathingly awesome comebacks that the drunk guy couldn’t follow, but which his buddies so admired that they rather were in awe of me. There were others that were overly polite trying to make up for the rest of them. In all, I was on top of my game, witty as all get-out, and having the time of my life!

But then there was the guy next to me. Sigh. It’s true, my geek-love set in. He had the hot geek-style glasses, was thin and tall as I often lust after, and was, I discovered, quite smart. He thought I was a quantum physicist.

He took his time at starting to talk to me, and when he did it was to “save me” from the idiot who wouldn't stop insulting me in a twisted attempt to win me over. So the geek turned my stool toward his and started chatting. It was natural for both of us and we matched wits well. He wasn’t trying to pick up on me in the least, but just trying to keep that rude guy from annoying me. We continued to interact sporadically with the entire table, but focused more on each other. Then as his confidence grew with my attention, he started telling me this great story.

Did I know, he wondered, that we are all made of stardust? He talked about eons ago how different stars exploded and their molecules were blown across the galaxies. He told me how we are now made up of these molecules. He also talked about how molecules have memory and how if they’ve ever been linked, they remember and are drawn to those once connected molecules. In his thoughtful, rapturous monologue, he continued his thought process with, “Wouldn’t it be interesting if some of your molecules were from the same star as some of my molecules and that’s why we were drawn together? We are from from the same star...”

Completely involved in his story, he was intending on continuing, but I sucked in my breath, my eyes wide, I said, “BEST PICK-UP LINE EVER!” He was completely thrown and couldn’t remember what he was going to say… instead, red as a beet, he finally grinned.

Yes, it turned out he was married. But this event made flirting the rest of the evening, in the midst of and while participating in the chaotic revelry of that place and the phrenetic enthusiasm of our table, until the tow showed up a blast – no worries about it being taken seriously either way. We could be saucy and sassy and know that this was it. This moment. It was, in the end, a perfect moment. All thanks to my car deciding THAT was the spot she wanted to “shuffle off this mortal coil.”

The following story...

So to follow that last post up, I have to say that I began reading Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman today. I’d been wanting to for some time and had finally collected a copy of my own this weekend. Early on, he says this (page 13):

“Richard had noticed that events were cowards: they didn’t occur singly, but instead they would run in packs and leap out at him all at once.”

How disappointing not to be the first to come up with this idea. Even more, it is depressing that he said it so much better and more succinctly. And then, too, how queer that we used the same turn of phrase.

I must confess a further strangeness in that it is only after reading the comment posted by Miss Eliza on that last post which prompted me to begin reading this book at this moment. It’s a bizarre sort of whirlwind of connections, which is underscored by what was contained in Miss Eliza’s comments, and of which I will now repeat here:

This reminds me of a post I read on Neil Gaiman's website today, it's the real truth that should be universally acknowledged:

Strange moments of juxtaposition that make you feel like you're living in a novel:

It had been the kind of day that meant I never quite got to look at the post. After dinner I opened the various packages on the kitchen table.

The first thing I opened was a secondhand copy of The Inner Hebrides and their Legends by Otta F. Swire, and I opened it to a random page and read, "...the third of May, when the Devil and his angels were cast out of heaven (and therefore 3rd May is a day on which no important undertaking should be begun and on which it is unpardonable to commit a crime)..."

That's interesting, I thought. I could put that in a story, the next time I need a date of ill-omen. I put the book down.

I opened the next envelope. It was huge, and came from Bloomsbury books in the UK, and contained – well, what it contained was on the note accompanying it, which said, in tidy handwriting:

Dear Neil
I'm delighted to enclose proofs of the Bloomsbury edition of "Instructions" (to be published on 3rd May).
With best wishes,
Madeleine

That's a bit heavy-handed, I thought. If I were writing this, I'd drop the 3rd May date in on something that happened tomorrow, to give everyone reading a chance to forget.

Real life is so strangely written, sometimes.

To add one more oddity, this book seems to be about this very thing - odd occurrences and connections that lead us to the most unusual situations... sometimes even to the incredible and unbelievable.

"...big ball of wibbly wobbly timey wimey."

Boys to men.

So I’m a girl who is not, I suppose, actually a girl so much as a woman. I am, however, a kid at heart, loving to play and be silly. I’m a very active person, too. All of this lends to me generally dating men quite a bit younger than I am. Um, like 11 – 16 years younger. (Hey all you teens with incredibly oily skin, don’t you worry – it will pay off as you’ll always look younger than you are... even if it’s mostly because you still have zits at 40. I’m just saying...)

So this time it’s rather nice to be involved with someone who knows how to pay bills on his own, likes a clean space, gets references to 80’s movies, and doesn’t have homework to do before we can hang out! Okay, yes he’s still younger, but it’s a more reasonable range… and hopefully those few years means he can keep up with me!

I mentioned before that he lives quite a distance. I cannot begin to say how frustrating this is… yet making it more bearable is that, as actual adults, we have conversations which aren’t limited to a select few things since he doesn’t feel intimidated by my experience and knowledge. So all-in-all, I’m having a great time! Thanks, Toughguy*!

I did have a story about the last guy I saw regularly. Bookboy* and I have remained friends and go out for a movie and drinks now and then to catch up, so when Christmas came along he gave me a gift. It was a specially made pink, man’s T-shirt that reads, “I ♥ Craig Ferguson.” I sat there wanting to laugh-out-loud thinking, “Is he trying to tell me why we’re no longer dating?” A girl can love in many different ways – he needn’t be threatened! It’d make a good email to Craig, though...

In the end, it was a “good idea, bad idea” kind of thing. It was not very practical as I neither wear pale pink nor men’s wear (and he should have known this, really), though it was thoughtful because I am a huge Ferguson fan. Ferguson’s humor is exactly my speed and style. Bookboy is a Fallon fan. So, actually it does sum up why we’re not together. I am not young-and-hip, am looking for something more than just “cute,” and prefer humor that is off the cuff, clever, and sometimes rather naughty!

* Names have been changed to protect the not-at-all innocent.

(I must end this by saying that though Bookboy and his gift both come off sounding rather bad, he's a good guy and I do like the gift a lot... but what kind of story would this be without poking some fun??)